Medea | ✔

02

02 | a betrayal in iolcus

Head held high, Medea walked past the citizens of Iolcus. She ignored their widened eyes, their hushed whispers. It had unnerved her... at first. Jason had insisted that she ignore them. She had been anyway – she was after all, a princess still. Even if she had preferred the route that her aunt had taken. But unlike most of the people who had been milling the streets of this new land, she was descended from a god. Her grandfather was the sun god, her aunt a fearful sorceress and her father? He was a king.

She just wasn't used to the hidden whispers.

After spending months at sea with a group of men, she had almost forgotten what it was like to walk among civilisation. But the travelling was needed. She had her wrongs cleansed (the gods had forgiven her), and she'd married Jason. She'd also grown used to her powers, used them more than she ever would have in Colchis. Seen more than she ever could have imagined.

They'd escaped sirens, Skylla and Charybdis! Medea had used her cunning ways to destroy the giant robot Talos – she was sure she'd killed the undefeated bronze man. His ichor had soaked into the ground of an island called Crete. And now, she was about to meet her husband's uncle.

The crowd of men behind them, the heroes, as she'd found out on the journey, cheered. The skin of the ram held high in the air, glinting under the afternoon sun. The roar of the crowd was deafening. Even the gods would have been able to hear the rejoicing of the city.

"People of Iolcus!" As Medea and Jason stood on the final step. She could see the entire city, almost. It was amazing – nothing like Colchis. But still. She wondered if this is how her father felt – how her brother felt – when they heard the citizens of Colchis cheer them on. "We bring you the golden fleece!"

Holding the skin, high in the air, it glinted under the sun. It was a wonderful sight; one she'd never forget. Even though she'd seen it so many times, even tried it on once, it still managed to surprise her. But, after all, the golden fleece was a legend. One that was told even in the darkest, deepest corners of the land.

"Jason!" The crowd rejoiced once again. They chanted his name, as if the name gave them life. As if Jason was their life-line. It was incredible to hear.

One of Jason's hand gripped Medea's. The other slid around her waist. It felt perfect. It felt right. Medea's free hand hovered over her belly. A budding life, a soon-to-be prince was growing in her belly. Her and Jason's child. Their first. Once he was born (she was positive it was a boy – the kicks were too strong), they would rejoice. Celebrate.

With a single look from her husband, Medea nodded.

Time to face the old king. Time for her husband to take his rightful place.

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"What do you mean, you won't give up your throne?" Fury was in Jason's voice. If he were a woman, his anger could have summoned the Erinyes. "You told me to get the golden fleece from the barbarians across the sea. I have it!" He shook the shimmering fleece. It did not faze Pelias. Maybe, in those old eyes of his, he couldn't see it.

"You may have your celebrations," Pelias said, avoiding answering her husband's question, "but you are to be known as a hero. I am still the king of Iolcus. I will not be usurped by a mere boy child."

"But–,"

"A hero, you shall be. A king, you shall not." Medea stared, the familiar feeling of burning rising through her. Her lover had not gone through perilous trials, through a dangerous journey, just to be betrayed at the end. However, Pelias was not the young man she'd imagined. No. He was frail and old. The wrinkling of his skin, the grey in his hair (and tainting his skin). The frailness of his arms. He probably didn't have many years left. Jason wouldn't need to even attempt an attack of sorts – all he had to do was wait out the king. But was that really an option they wanted to explore?